Sugar Cube

sugar cube

nikolai lantsov x reader - sugar cube

summary: taking a bit of time to enjoy the sweet things in life

warnings: friends to lovers, siege and storm era nik, slight innuendo

word count: 1.2k

A/N: if you understand the reference, we can be best friends

     Nikolai Lantsov always had a tumultuous relationship with feelings.  He supposed most people did to a certain extent: crying when they didn’t want to; falling in love when they claimed to be ‘working on themselves’.  But his was always a bit more than that, transforming into a habit he jokingly called his own personal ‘small science’.

     With a slight tuning of his behavior and delivery of words altering the reactions of a crowd before him, it didn’t take long for the youngest Lantsov son to discover he had a flair for theatrics.  Rising through the ranks of the army and charming the socks off of diplomats was dumbly easy.  Under his spell, anger could be turned to pity and the tinges of loss stoked into the burning embers of a raging war.

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All your fault [Sirius Black x Reader] - Requested

Title: All your fault Pairing: Sirius Black x Gryffindor!Reader Word count: 1.9k Published: 16 February, 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Summary: Sirius’ boredom causes you to end up in detention. Or so you think, but he has a different perspective on the events and you clearly can’t find the golden middle. Request: [x] I have combined two requests. One from Tumblr and one from Wattpad. I took the liberty to change some things, but overall it’s the same. 

“Hey Talented! Could you write a Sirius x Gryffindor!reader where the reader is jock with intense emotions and a chaser in Quidditch team? Also Is exceptionally talented at DADA and that make sirius jealous and turned-on too? please?” - @marauders-hogwarts​​ 

“Hey, I was just reading your marauders x reader one shots and I had an idea for one. Could you pls make one where Sirius gets into an argument with you and at the end grabs your hand to turn you around and abruptly smashes his lips against yours and asks you to be his girl. And the next day he comes up to you and tell you that ther is something wrong with your hand untill he picks it up and puts his own hand in yours and says that’s better. Please? Thanks so much. I am a huge fan of your work.” - @Tamarakyra [Wattpad]

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If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

Sirius Black had never been one to question things. He was very stubborn much to his professors’ dismay. Doing what he wanted regardless of consequences has become his personal motto. Swaying him seemed impossible, he always knew what he wanted, how he wanted it and when he wanted it.

However, on a rainy dull Saturday afternoon as he was watching you up in the air, flying across the quidditch pitch on your broomstick, your hair flat against your face, your uniform drenched in water, your eyes covered with a pair of goggles, something has changed within him. For a mere moment he felt as if time had stopped as you screamed at James for not being able to catch the snitch and win against Ravenclaw. His eyes focused only on you, even forgetting about the ongoing match.

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Absurd ideas [Sirius Black x Reader]

Title: Absurd ideas Pairing: Sirius Black x Female!Reader and Remus Lupin x Own Character Word count: 4.7k Published: 12 January 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore  Notes: Not my best work, but I hope some of you will enjoy it. Summary: Sirius’ jealousy causes a misunderstanding which inevitably ends up with him getting worked up and everyone else being confused. Most of all you, when you realise he thinks he knows what you feel, but he couldn’t be farther from the truth. Bingo: [x] This is part of my Make me feel Bingo Card by @girl-next-door-writes​​

Square filled: Mutual Pinning

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If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

You were seated in a room, rubbing your tired eyes on a bed that didn’t even belong to you. It wasn’t just any room with any bed though. You were in the male dormitory of the Gryffindor House of Hogwarts, seated in the marauder’s bedroom, specifically on Sirius Black’s bed. Just like on every full moon, you waited for the boys impatiently, to make sure that they were in one piece as they arrived back from their wild adventures.

It was about 5am when the sun started to rise. You barely slept an hour or two, waking up almost every half an hour, concern and worry taking over you with a pinch of insomnia that you were used to on a daily basis. The boys should have been back already, but they took their sweet time, making you even more anxious, than you dared to admit. You took deep breaths to calm yourself down, just as the door opened with a loud thud hitting the wall behind it.

Looking at the entrance, you saw James first, holding up a barely conscious Remus, whose arm hung off his friend’s shoulder, before you saw Sirius on his other side, helping James carrying the boy. You ran up to them and hurried them over to Remus’ bed, wanting to check on the boy as soon as you could. They placed him on his bed as gently as they could and stood back, giving you just enough space. They stood silently with hunched backs, visible dark circles under their eyes and tired expressions across their face as they watched you.

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ೄྀ࿐ GRAND SCHEME

*edited*

⎯ sirius black x gn!ravenclaw!reader

sirius plans a grand scheme to complete his love-stricken heart. but, as usual, he has to clean up the mess he made because of it first.

⎯ request: anon.

⎯ warnings: fluff; mention of blood.

⎯ wc: 1.9k

⎯ a/n: i got so excited when you said ravenclaw because that’s my house so it made it so much easier to portray the reader HAHA

i rewrote this four times until i figured out what worked and i am so happy with how this turned out !!

navigation.

Remus called it his “crush of the week.” It was now two weeks… James was counting.

“There’s got to be something wrong with him,” said Remus.

“There’s a lot of things wrong with him,” mumbled Peter.

“He’s like a love-struck puppy,” commented James.

“Literally,” the two said in unison.

“This scares me,” Remus added. “It’s like a relapse of James’s obsession for Lily.”

“Oh, come on, Moony. I wasn’t all that bad.”

“You were that bad,” confirmed Peter.

Sirius was sat back in his chair, calm and collected as ever.

“Padfoot,” snapped Remus.

“What?” he replied, not averting his gaze.

“Your heart sounds like the Hogwarts Express.”

James snorted. “Love-struck puppy.”

Sirius’s eyes only looked away to watch the professor exit the room, leaning his chair back a little too far.

“I’ll be right back,” he scrambled from his seat.

Sirius leaped over chairs and dodged a couple classmates before setting himself down hard in a space next to Y/N.

“What do you want, Sirius?” they mumbled, eyes trained on their assignment.

His face hurt as he attempted to stifle the grin at the sound of his name. “Nothing,” he shrugged.

“Then goodbye.”

Sirius chuckled. “I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be the nice ones.”

“The Hufflepuffs are the stereotypical nice ones. Ravenclaws are the stereotypical nerds. Therefore, I said goodbye.”

“Still hurts.”

“It’s nothing against you, Sirius, I just really want to get my work done.”

“You never know, I could have been over here to help with said work.”

“It’s group work. You’re working with Remus.”

“And where’s your partner?”

“In the bathroom. Or behind the greenhouses. They never do their work so I’m always the one to get the load of it. So, again, goodbye.”

Sirius leaned forward and plucked the quill from their fingers. Finally, they looked at him, and he wished he could regret the face of pure fury.

“Give it back, Sirius."

“Why?”

“Stop.”

“He’s patronizing them,” Peter sang, voice muffled from his cheek rested on the heel of his hand.

Remus’s head lifted; James turned in his seat.

Remus sighed as he watched Y/N seconds from tearing Sirius's head off. “He’s going to get a broken nose.”

“Y/N doesn’t look like the violent type,” observed James.

“I saw them punch Rosier in the ear,” Peter informed. “He couldn’t hear for two weeks.”

James hissed between his teeth. “As much as he deserved it … I’m not so sure Sirius does.”

“No, no. He does,” nodded Remus, solemnly. “He does.”

“Should we do something?” said James.

“No,” Remus mumbled. “Just let him get what’s coming.”

The three turned back to their work.

Sirius and Y/N jumped from their seats. The Black boy wasn’t as tall as many of the others at Hogwarts, but he had a little brother, automatically making him good at keeping things out of someone's reach.

“I’m serious, give it back!”

The boys winced.

“No, I’m Sirius.”

The room went dead silent at the loud strike Y/N left across his face.

“Mx Y/L/N, Mister Black,” the professor snapped from their place near the opening of the hall. “Detention. After classes.”

Y/N sucked their teeth, then ripped their quill from Sirius’s grasp. They didn’t make eye contact with him as they took their seat, immediately resuming their task.

“You deserved that,” said Remus, watching his friend round the table. “I would say I hope you feel bad, but I look stupid for even thinking that.”

Sirius removed his hand from his face and touched his swelling lip. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek curiously, prodding at the growing bruise.

“They got me good,” he mumbled, assessing the red on his fingertips.

“That was your plan? To get the both of you into detention?” said Peter.

“You do stupid things when you’re in love, Wormy.”

“Did you realize there’s a chance you just set yourself back thirty steps?” said Remus. “They seem like the type to happily hold a grudge.”

“Remu, when have I ever failed at swooning someone?”

“Just now,” answered James.

“Nowhere in that interaction did they say no.”

“Merlin,” Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing shut, “you’re such an idiot.”

“Only for Y/N,” said Peter.

Sirius leaned back in his chair, setting himself up like before, and pointed a finger at the boy across the table. “You are absolutely correct.”

“It hurts,” Remus continued. His hand wrung in front of his chest in a gesture. “I can feel it. I think it’s been killing me slowly the past six years.”

“That’s just your time of the month, Moony.”

His eyes snapped open; he thwacked Sirius up the back of the head.

“Ah, Merlin,” he groaned, gripping his scalp. “I think your super strength’s given me a concussion.”

James laughed.

As usual, Remus Lupin was right.

Y/N was already in the classroom when Sirius arrived; even when Professor Redcap handed them an essay, they didn’t acknowledge his presence.

Sirius idly looked around the room and toyed with his quill. His knee bounced impatiently; it only grew worse every time he looked to the professor to see him still awake. Finally, his head fell back against the chair.

Sirius lept from his seat, copying his actions from fourth period. And, just as they had, Y/N didn’t look up from their parchment.

“You can stop doing that now,” he said. “Once he’s out, he’s out. He’s also terribly forgetful so if you just put the parchment and stuff in your pocket you can claim he forgot to give us an assignment and he will believe it.”

Sirius was hopeful as they did what he suggested, but things got just a little more difficult when instead of focusing on him, they hid their face in their arms atop the desk.

“Don’t go to sleep.” He paused, waiting. “Please don’t go to sleep,” he sang softly.

His eyes roamed their hunched-over figure as he thought.

Sirius took the end of a piece of their hair and tugged ever so gently. Y/N propped up in lightning speed and struck his arm.

“Don’t touch me,” they growled.

“You don’t hate me.”

“I don’t. But I do dislike you.”

“I can work with that.”

Disbelief took over their features. “You can work with that?” they spat. “Merlin, you’re such an arrogant prat.”

“Okay. Okay. Okay, look. I’m sorry. Okay?” Sirius didn’t know what came over him; sensing he was getting farther and farther out of reach of them was sending him into a panic. He felt like James. However, James would have had the confidence to not worry about losing Lily. “I’m sorry. I know—I know can be an absolute twat. It’s something I’m good at. A little too good at—at times. But I’m sorry. Truly.”

“Wow,” they said, tone in mock amazement. “Did Sirius Black just beg for my forgiveness?” they raised an eyebrow.

He flashed a lopsided grin. “Maybe.”

Y/N scoffed and scratched their nose, “Good to know we’re on the same page.”

“You’re right. Ravenclaws are too feisty to be the kind house.”

Sirius’s grin turned even as the corners of Y/N’s lips kicked up. They faced the front of the class, arms crossed over their chest.

“A lot of us can be arrogant, you know?” they said, looking at him out of the corner of their eye.

“Makes sense why you’re friends with mostly Slytherins.”

“They’re selfish, we’re arrogant … ugly combo but—we know how to deal with each other. Gryffindors tend to be impulsive, so, you and Slytherins clash a lot. Hufflepuffs are passive-aggressive. They fit more with Ravenclaws. They could verbally slap Slytherins.”

Sirius laughed, “How do you know all this?”

“I don’t know … I’m observant? I don’t know, I guess I just pay attention.”

“That’s how you know my name, then.”

“No,” they chuckled, head facing him. “I know your name because you are the most disturbant source of chaos this school suffers. With your stupid clock prank in fourth year, the itching powder in first year, the dung bombs in fifth year …”

Sirius’s grin softened. His elbows rested on his knees as he leaned forward, lifting his chin slightly.

“What?” they said.

“Nothing, it’s just … this is not only the first time you’ve looked at me, but you’re the first person to say they know me and the first reason not be because of my family.”

“What do you mean this is the first time I’ve looked at you? I’ve looked at you many times.”

“No, this time is different.” His smile stretched again. “You’re looking at me. I don’t know how to explain it. I—It sounds stupid.”

Y/N nodded, the corners of their mouth kicked up faintly. “I've looked at you before, Sirius ... You just haven't noticed."

His features drooped as he pieced together their words.

After moments of silence, their eyes narrowed, and they said, “Why are we really here, Sirius?”

“What do you mean?” he sat up straight.

“Why are we in detention—together? Why did you come over to me in class?”

“Uh,” he drawled. Sirius scratched the corner of his mouth as if that would block their view of his growing, nervous smile. “Grand scheme.”

“If it’s so grand then what am I doing here?”

“You’re the grand part.”

Y/N snorted. “What?”

“Do you want to go out with me?” he blurted.

They chuckled. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“I’d hope so—unless I just spoke the mess my brain is right now.”

Y/N laughed; Sirius couldn’t do anything but grin as he memorized the sound. His face was starting to ache.

“Sure."

Sirius’s eyes flicked to the clock; his entire expression changed. As he rushed back to his desk, he said, “Play cool.”

Not two seconds after he planted himself down did a fake bird, on a small dome sat on the desk, make a gut-wrenching call. The professor woke and tapped its head, ending the terror. He ended up at the side of his desk before his eyebrows shot up.

“Did I forget again?” he looked to Sirius.

“Yes, sir. Didn’t want to wake you.”

He sighed. “Alright. Off with you.”

Sirius walked Y/N to the tower, even all the way up to the knocker. The burning in his lungs was amplified by the anxiety, but it was worth it.

“I don’t know how you walk up these steps so many times a day,” he heaved.

They shrugged. “You get used to it … Or you learn how to fly your broomstick to your window.”

Sirius laughed. “Really?”

Y/N nodded, shoving their bottom lip between their teeth as they held back a grin. “Mhm. If you live in one of the inner rooms then you just fly to the tower and climb through a hatch to get to here. It’s an invisible thing. I think some students made it hundreds of years ago or something.”

“You should really show me how to use that,” he nodded faintly, eyebrows raised.

“I’ll think about it,” they said softly.

They made for the door, but Sirius’s hand on theirs pulled them back.

“I really don’t want you to go,” he whispered.

“I’m sure you don’t, but I have to work on the assignment you interrupted.”

“I could help you,” he said cheekily, smile all teeth.

They took a few steps forward and placed a hand on his cheek as they kissed the bruised one gently.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Sirius Black.”

He smiled lopsidedly. “See you tomorrow,” he mumbled.

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hi!! i think a tasm peter one shot where he teaches you how to skateboard would be the cutest thing ever. and maybe y/n isn’t very good so once they get the tiniest bit of success both of them are really excited but then y/n is ready to pack it up so they go back to peters house and cuddle or something. lots of fluff<3

this took longer than i wanted to get out, but here it is! this turned into a fic that's just no plot, only fluff (and nearly 3k words, lord) and it was really sweet to write!! i hope you like it <33

skateboards, the force, and a lack of pants

pairing: tasm (andrew garfield) peter parker x reader (gender neutral; no y/n) warnings: no plot. there is only fluff here. reader is into star wars, has hair long enough to braid, and i think that's it. one minor reference to sex. summary: peter teaches you how to skateboard and other cuteness.

New York’s weather came and went like the seasons were chasing each other, and this year it had been particularly indecisive. Before you knew it, the heat like the pits of hell that came in August had soon been ran off by the chill of October. It wasn’t freezing enough to scare you and Peter off from hanging around on campus outdoors, but it was cold enough to send a shiver through you if you sat in the wrong direction of the wind. On that note, you shifted over slightly so the tree you were leaning against would block some of it, pulling the collar of Peter’s worn, but loved, denim jacket up for good measure. You sank down in the comforting material, taking in the familiar scent of his cologne.

You had no idea how Peter wasn’t cold in just a t-shirt and jeans. He’d insisted as such as he wrapped you in his jacket before skating off on his board, but you chalked it up to skateboarding keeping his blood flowing. Maybe spidey-powers helped him keep warm or something, too. The boy was an enigma sometimes.

The clicks and scrapes of Peter’s board against the pavement of the outdoor basketball court became white noise as you attempted to focus on some homework you had told him you’d busy yourself with. It wasn’t due for a few days, but you figured trying to conquer your chronic procrastination for once might be a good idea. It was good in theory. But after ten minutes of re-reading the same paragraph over and over again, the concept just didn’t seem to come to fruition. So, you resided to shoving your books back in your bag, instead watching Peter ride back and forth on his board, every so often doing a trick or two. You pulled your knees to your chest in an attempt to get more warmth.

It wasn’t long before Peter noticed you were no longer doing work. He’d felt your eyes on him for a while, but he figured you were just thinking or something until he glanced up at where you were sitting. He threw you a soft smile at the way you curled up against the tree in his jacket, clearly not enjoying the cold weather.

“You finish that English Lit assignment already?” He flipped his board up into his hand and came over to you, pressing an out of breath kiss to your forehead as he kneeled in front of you. You shook your head.

“Too cold.” Your boyfriend couldn’t hold back a smile at the pout on your face. Then, an idea popped into his head.

“I know something that’ll warm you up, c’mere,” he pulled you to your feet, and you followed without hesitation. His hands were warmer than yours, as was his whole body, and Peter didn’t miss the way you pressed close to him to steal some of it. He didn’t mind. Never would. “Have you ever ridden a skateboard?”

“No,” a smile crept up your lips as you realized what he was proposing. “You gonna teach me how?”

“Maybe,” he tilted his head, his eyebrows raised at you. “Do you want to?”

“I will do anything as long as you keep your magical, warm hands on me.”

“Jeez, I’m not sure I’m ready for the exhibitionist step in our relationship,” he snickered, not even wincing when you shoved him away playfully in retaliation. “Alright, come on, you’ll be a natural.” His hands settled on your hips as he guided you onto the board to show you how to turn and balance yourself, the warmth of his palms jumping all over your body. You barely paid attention to what he was telling you because you were enjoying the newfound warmth he gave you. You only tuned back in at the end. “…got it?”

“Suuuure,” you squinted your eyes as code for I definitely don’t. Peter shook his head and just gently pushed you forward. You weren’t going fast at all, but soon realized you were nearing the edge of the concrete that ended in grass. You failed to turn fast enough and simply jumped off, letting the skateboard stutter to a stop by itself. Peter came to stand beside you, hands on his hips as you both looked down at the board like it was a piece of roadkill.

“You could’ve at least committed to crashing.”

“I got scared.”

“Of grass?”

“What if I fall?” You scuffed your shoe against the pavement in frustration. He shook his head, wrapping his arm around your waist.

“You will, everybody does. That’s just how you learn, it’s no big deal,” he shrugged. “Besides, at least I’m here to kiss it better.”

“Gross,” you scrunched your nose at him when he pressed an embarrassing, wet kiss to your cheek, followed by blowing a raspberry in retaliation to your comment. “As my skateboarding coach, I have to say this isn’t very professional behavior.”

“Sure it is, it’s incentive,” he watched as you moved his board back to the pavement, stepping one foot on and nearly falling due to an overuse of pressure moving it forward. Your boyfriend caught you with ease and steadied your feet with a quiet chuckle. You nearly screeched when he gave you a teasing tap on the ass that moved you forward. “Go get ‘em, tiger!”

After a few more tries, you got a little better at steering with Peter’s direction, but not fast enough to successfully do so before hitting the edge of the godforsaken grass. You were ready to give up, not finding much pleasure in your continued failures, despite Peter’s optimism and encouragement. You voiced as such, kicking his board sadly back towards him.

“C’mon, I don’t wanna end it on a bad note,” he shook his head and met you where you were at the opposite side of the basketball court. He placed his board in front of you. “Here, let’s try together.” You got on as usual, until he scooted you forward so he balanced behind you.

“There’s no way this is going to end well, Pete,” you said nervously, far closer to the curve at the front of the board than you figured was practical. Peter set his hands on your hips and nudged your other foot onto the board, leaving just his on the ground to stop the two of you from moving forward. You could feel his breath on the back of your neck as he adjusted the two of you on the board, sending a shiver up your spine. He noticed and pulled you closer.

“I mean, a longboard might be more practical here, but we can fit,” you weren’t facing him, but you could hear the shrug and don’t worry about it in his voice. “I’ll push us off, and help you turn with my weight. So you can feel what it’s like.” He made sure you were ready first, before pushing the two of you off, far faster than you had been going, which made your heart rate increase. Peter could sense it, damn superpowers, and squeezed your hip in reassurance. The board approached the halfway point of the concrete slab, and Peter began leaning behind you, guiding you to do the same. Almost like magic to you, the two of you turned successfully and kept skating in a new direction. “See? You just need to lean a little more into it, babe, and you got it.” He stayed on the board with you to show you the turning a few more times, before allowing you to try by yourself again. You would never admit that Peter was right, but you felt a lot more confident as you pushed off again.

When you approached the point where you needed to start turning, you let your weight lean further than usual into the direction you were turning. Miraculously, you didn’t crash into the grass, and kept going successfully, aside from almost losing your balance as you went back into the regular position. Peter cheered from where he was standing, only ceasing when you hit a rock in your path, and you were sent stumbling off the board onto the ground. He rushed to your side, catching the board as he went and helped you up. “I told you, you’ve got promise,” pride shone in his eyes as he dusted the nonexistent dirt from falling off of you. “Avril Lavigne could be singing about you, just wait.”

“Isn’t that the dream?” You snorted, looking down at your stinging hands, which had been scraped open quite a bit from when you’d instinctively put your hands out to stop your fall. You winced as you brushed a bit of dirt away from them, catching Peter’s attention. He pursed his lips, eyebrows furrowing together in concern. “I’m okay, P, just stings a little.”

“I don’t have any band-aids on me,” he frowned and kissed your palm, just above the cuts. You couldn’t help but smile at the gentle gesture, before he began to gather your things so the two of you could leave. He handed your backpack to you, leading you to a hidden alcove by the nearest building. “C’mon, I’ll swing us home.” He pulled that familiar red mask out of his bag, beginning to shed his clothes. You didn’t even bat an eye, he wore his spidey suit underneath his clothes nearly every day, which in retrospect was an odd behavior to be so used to.

“But it’s so cold.”

“We need to clean your hands, they’ll get infected.” He gave you a stern look, one that was far too serious for a couple scrapes to your hands. Especially for a guy that refused to go to the hospital after getting stabbed or shot. Ridiculous even for someone with super-healing.

“I’m fine, babe, I’m not gonna die—” You were cut off by his hand securing itself at the small of your back, and your feet leaving the ground. “I really hate you!” You yelled over the wind, hugging him tightly for extra insurance on top of his strong grip around you. Peter just laughed, shooting webs and swinging between buildings with ease. You hid your face in his shoulder to avoid your stomach betraying you, which had happened once before and you did not want to re-experience it. Peter never complained about it afterwards, since he was frustratingly the most kind and understanding person on the planet, but you knew it took an entire day of running his suit through the washer to get that incident out of the fabric.

The two of you arrived outside Peter’s apartment without anyone losing their lunch, and he carefully guided you through the window, apologizing when he touched your butt on accident as if he hadn’t given you a playful smack in a public setting a mere hour or two ago. Sometimes the boy was a walking contradiction.

Peter nearly ran to his bathroom to retrieve one of his many first aid kits, while you took your regular spot on the edge of his bed. He came back just as you had yanked off your shoes, plopping down in his desk chair to roll in front of you. His hands were gentle as they flattened yours out, and he murmured a quiet apology when you winced at the rubbing alcohol he dabbed on your injury.

“I wish I could transfer my healing ability to you sometimes,” he said quietly as he worked, almost as if he was simply speaking his thoughts aloud. You watched fondly as he pushed his father’s glasses further up his nose, ones that he didn’t need, but were simply sentimental to him. You always thought it was a shame that spider bite gave him perfect vision; Peter suited those glasses so well and it always stirred up butterflies in your stomach when you saw him with them on. You’d confessed this to him once, and he’d gone as red as his spidey suit. One of your other favorite looks on him.

“Maybe you just haven’t gotten to the force-healing part of your training yet, Padawan,” you joked, feeling victorious when Peter grinned uncontrollably at your joke. He smoothed the last bandage on your hand.

“Mm, I don’t think I would ever get that far, I can’t really get behind the ‘attachment is forbidden’ rule,” he gave you a pointed look while he gathered the Band-Aid wrappers and cotton balls to take to his bathroom trashcan. “I’m not trying to become Darth Vader.”

“Peter, I’m not going to have a fight with you over the Jedi Code again,” you sighed. Last time you two had a debate about Star Wars, it had ended in a food fight that had you cleaning May’s kitchen for three hours. “Besides isn’t your spidey sense basically like being Force sensitive? Maybe you can do stuff like that, you just haven’t channeled it yet.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he returned to his bedroom, doing a little dance as he jumped around and attempted to pull off his Spider-Man suit. He paused when he was pulling on a t-shirt, halfway over his head, as if he was considering a thought. “But I guess it kind of is like the Force. Without the lifting rocks part."

“Spider-Jedi,” You whispered mysteriously, making him giggle like a little kid as he finished changing. While he was doing that, you grabbed your laptop from your backpack and began scrolling through Netflix. Peter soon joined you, flopping down next to you and resting his head against your thigh as he gave you suggestions on what to watch. Eventually, you both finally agreed on something amongst the millions of options. You were perfectly comfortable in the current position, but apparently your boyfriend had qualms before you settled down for the next few hours.

“Why are you still wearing jeans?” He mumbled, turning over to look up at you. Your expression changed to the visual representation of a lone question mark.

“I mean, unlike you, I don’t just take off my pants at will wherever I am.”

“Weren’t you the one that sent me a three-thousand-word text complaining about having to put on pants to go to class last week?”

“This is the weirdest and least romantic way you’ve tried to have sex with me, weirdo,” you placed your hand over his face to tease him. He only responded by kissing your wrist, then moving your arm to hug at his chest. “Besides, I didn’t bring any clothes to change into. And I don’t really wanna have to get re-dressed when I leave.”

“Who said you were leaving?”

“…Me? I have class tomorrow, Pete,” you laughed. He just pouted at you.

“And? Not until noon, I’ll walk you,” he could tell you were about to say no again, so he put on his best puppy eyes. “Please? You haven’t spent the night in like, forever. I misssss youuu.”

“Okay, fine, you baby,” you caved far too quickly, knowing the last time you slept over was merely a few days ago. “I still don’t have anything to change into.”

“Well, I’m not saying I wouldn’t mind if you didn’t wear any pants at all, but that’s exactly what I’m saying,” he flirted with a smile that was far too gentle for the implications. “But also, you left shorts here a while ago and I washed them for you.”

“I’m going to ignore everything else you just said because I’m genuinely impressed you did your own laundry,” you gently pushed his head away from you so you could get up to retrieve the shorts from where he informed you they were in his dresser. They were folded neatly on top of a shirt of his, one you stole often because it was one of the softest shirts he owned. You smiled at the gesture, taking the outfit and quickly changing, feeling Peter’s eyes on you as you did so. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer, bug boy.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he opened his arms when you finally moved towards him. Your boyfriend pulled you down between his legs where he was leaning against the wall, curling his arms comfortably around you. He started the movie on your laptop, his hands quickly finding their place playing with your hair as the two of you watched in a comfortable silence, one that felt like no time had passed at all until you realized you were halfway through the movie. Peter’s hands had settled themselves back at your waist, holding one of your own as he played with your fingers. You were half asleep from such a comfortable position, and nearly jumped when he spoke. “Hey.”

“Hi, Petey,” you mumbled and tilted your head back on his chest to look at him.

“Cute,” he commented and kissed your forehead. “I love you, you know?”

“I know,” you smiled and squeezed his hand. “I love you, too.”

---

Invisible String | S. Holmes

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Summary: [Based on Invisible String - Taylor Swift] Even after two years apart, all signs seemed to point her back to Sherlock, despite her best attempts at ignoring them.

masterlist

A/N: This is a part of my folklore/evermore-inspired fic collection.

This one is a long one! Many details from the movie have been changed slightly. I had quite a big plan going into this, so I didn't pay as close attention to characterisation and accuracy as I would have liked to, but I do quite like how it turned out!

Nonetheless I hope its a good read x

There will be one more part following this story :)

Y/n felt her feet begin to drag as she sped across the train station platform with her uncle trailing closely behind her. She could not bear the thought of being in her hometown any longer. Not after an especially humiliating end to what was meant to be a promising season for her.

She marched with determination, aiming to kick and scream her way onto the train that was already preparing to take off. She would have made it too had it not been for the old woman who came out from nowhere and took hold of her hands.

"Miss Y/l/n, would you care for a quick reading?"

Agatha was a pleasant old woman who Y/n never previously thought ill of. However, for the mere reason that she was standing in her way, Y/n felt her cheeks heat up in frustration and she forced a smile. Throwing a fit would only slow her down.

"On any other given day, I absolutely would, but our train is about to-"

Y/n was interrupted by the sound of the train whistle and the roaring of its engine. Her already sour mood worsened as she watched it leave the station, knowing the next train would not be for another half hour.

"Appears meant to be, does it not?"

She turned to her uncle Francis and met his mockingly cheerful smirk with a bitter frown. Agatha took hold of her hand once more and gestured towards the small table she was stationed at with her crystal ball. Y/n sighed.

"Oh, all right."

Agatha grinned as she guided her towards the empty chair across from where she was previously seated. Y/n huffed as she hovered her fingers over her side of the crystal orb. This was not her first time sitting with Agatha.

The woman glanced at the crystal and inhaled deeply, mumbling something quietly to herself. She was well aware that Y/n was sceptical about her craft, but Agatha was most intrigued by the way she begrudgingly sat herself down with her every time.

"Are you in quite a hurry, Miss Y/l/n?"

"I suppose you could say that," Y/n answered mindlessly.

"Running away from something?"

Y/n's eyes shot up at Agatha and narrowed.

"Lucky guess," she muttered.

"Hm," Agatha's brows crinkled as she squinted and peered closer into the ball. There was something most intriguing embedded in the fabrics of her future.

"What is it?"

While she did not necessarily believe in fortune-telling, Y/n quickly found herself with nothing left to do than become somewhat invested in whatever conclusion Agatha would make about her destiny. From the way the inquisitive look on the woman's face, it was not difficult to be even the slightest bit interested.

Agatha finally leaned back and met Y/n's eager eyes with little to no expression.

"You've not made much progress in finding a suit this season, have you?"

Y/n scoffed and pulled her hands away. For someone trying to make a business out of her supposed gift, she was clearly still learning how to speak to her customers in a way that was not offensive.

"If you are going to just insult me, I will be on my way-"

"Allow me to finish," Agatha interjected, grabbing hold of the young woman's hands and guiding her back down. "I see a change in your luck occurring soon."

Once more, the young woman let out a huff.

"Go on."

"It will happen when you least expect it, but it will be soon," Agatha explained.

"How very conveniently vague," Y/n muttered.

"Your scepticism will not change your fate, Miss Y/l/n."

The younger woman shrunk. Perhaps it was rude to respond so smugly to something she was being stated with sincerity, whether or not it held any truth. Satisfied, Agatha gazed upon her crystal ball and closed her eyes momentarily.

"On your path towards this new suitor, I see.... a field of daffodils," she stated as she scanned through her perception of Y/n's future. "And I see a necklace, a cartographer and... and an apple."

Y/n shut her lips tightly as she stifled a laugh. This time, her amusement was less in regards to her disbelief and more to the thought of being matched to a mapmaker with impaired vision. It was hardly the sugarcoated fairytale she was expecting to be sold on.

Shortly after, the sound of the train track echoed through the station as the 4 o'clock train to London arrived. Agatha opened her eyes and smiled wearily at the only person who agreed to receive a reading from her all week.

"I suppose that is my cue to let you go."

Y/n dropped her hands and reached for the money she had stored in the small purse she carried with her. Much to Agatha's surprise, the young woman placed the money in her hand and smiled warmly before rising from her seat.

"I thought you do not believe in fortune-telling," Agatha sputtered, taken aback that she was choosing to pay for a service she did not buy into at all.

"I do not," Y/n shrugged before turning towards her train, but not without grinning at the now grateful old woman.

As agitating as Agatha could be, Y/n knew she was tight on money. While she could care less what the stars had written for her, she did not mind sitting with Agatha just to be able to offer up what limited financial help she could give. It was the very reason Y/n typically took her up on her offer.

She and her Uncle Francis continued down the platform as they headed towards the entrance of the train when Y/n stopped in her tracks. There was a young girl being approached by a train station guard and there was something eerily familiar about her.

"Uncle, would you be willing to purchase an extra ticket?"

Francis nodded without thinking to question why. As he trodded along to the nearest ticket booth, Y/n approached the guard and the girl, both of whom she was well acquainted with.

"Mr Slater, I hope you are not reprimanding my charge." Y/n looped her arm through the young girl's and turned to face the guard with a disapproving scowl. "As her governess, I do believe that is my job."

"You are this young girl's governess?" Mr Slater narrowed his eyes. He had spoken to Miss Y/l/n on several occasions and never once did she mention being a governess to a particularly troublesome youth.

"Do you question my integrity, Mr Slater?"

The guard's eyes widened in horror and he immediately shook his head profusely. While he was not convinced she was telling the truth, he knew better than to cross her.

"Of course not, Miss Y/l/n," he winced.

"Then you will excuse us," Y/n smiled, before turning away and heading for the train, her grip on the young girl's arm still firm.

Once she was certain no one was suspicious of the two of them and that Mr Slater was well out of earshot, Y/n loosed her grip.

"It is lovely to see you again, Enola," she murmured, her eyes still glued to the path ahead of them.

"I was hoping you would not recognise me," Enola groaned.

When she saw Y/n sitting with the fortune-telling lady, Enola tried her best to make it by without raising suspicion until she bumped right into a train station guard. Y/n let out a quiet laugh as the two of them boarded the train.

"I think you will find that you Holmes siblings are terribly difficult to erase from memory," she muttered. After a quick glance down at the young girl, Y/n made note of her pitiful disguise. "-Even with a frilly dress and a ridiculous hat."

Enola lifted her hand and took her hat off before chuckling. She was most sceptical about wearing it but the lady at the store had her convinced it was all the rave now.

"It is quite ridiculous isn't it."

As the two of them followed Francis into the first available private compartment, Enola found herself feeling uneasy as she remembered the entire reason she was undercover, to begin with.

"Will you be alerting my brothers that you have seen me?"

Her voice was small and filled with worry. Y/n frowned momentarily. While she knew it was the right thing to do, she also knew Enola would not have run away for no good reason. After a moment's deliberation, Y/n sighed, her mind already decided.

"If that is what you wish," she began, before glancing down at Enola and offering an assuring smile. “But, if it is not, I will not tell another soul.”

Y/n felt nostalgic as she spoke. When Enola was old enough to run and talk, Y/n always promised to keep quiet when it came to the mischief she would get up to around the estate. She envied the freedom Enola had to run amuck with no strict and rigid parents to refrain her from doing so. For that reason, Y/n was determined to preserve that freedom in every she possibly could.

“That is," Y/n continued. "After you tell me why you are running from your brothers.”

"You know why," Enola sighed.

Following the death of their father, Mycroft and Eudoria revisited the plans put in place for what would happen in the event of her death. While most of it was legal jargon that no one else cared for, it was the matters pertaining to Enola's guardianship that became a highly contested topic.

With Eudoria's recent disappearance, Y/n quickly realised that meant Enola was now under the care of her eldest brother. She felt an evergrowing bitterness settle in her stomach as she remembered the heated argument she engaged in with Enola's older brothers, both of whom saw no flaw in Mycroft becoming her guardian.

"What does he have planned for you?"

Y/n held her breath and hoped it was far from what she feared would happen. That poor Enola was not being forced to stare down the barrel of a finishing school and an arranged marriage.

"Exactly what you suspected."

Y/n winced.

“But it is more than just Mycroft," Enola added. The young girl inhaled sharply. "It is also my mama.”

“I am sorry to hear about her disappearance,” Y/n frowned.

While Eudoria Holmes was an incredibly complex woman, it was always clear how much she loved her daughter and how dedicated she was to raising Enola. For this reason, Y/n could not understand what possessed Eudoria to leave.

"I believe she has been trying to communicate with me."

"You do?"

"Yes," Enola smiled. "And if I can get to London, I am certain I will be able to find her."

Y/n wanted to feel comforted by Enola's unwavering confidence, however, she could not obliviate the immense worry that loomed over her. Even as the young girl explained her thought-out plan of getting to London, the crease between Y/n brows as she listened remained.

When Enola finally finished her vague explanation of what was an incredibly detailed and complex plan, she stood up from her seat and headed towards the other side of the train carriage.

"Enola, that sounds like an awfully dangerous pursuit."

"I am aware of the risks I am taking, Y/n," she replied nonchalantly.

"I don't believe that you are," Y/n replied honestly.

While she hated being yet another person doubting Enola's judgement, Y/n knew her doubts came from a place of concern, not her ego. However, it appeared to make no difference, as Enola's expression remained blank. In fact, just as Y/n went to speak again, the young girl turned her back and sped off to the other end of the train carriage.

"Enola, where are you going?"

Y/n followed after her and felt her anxiety grow exponentially as she watched Enola unlock the door and peer outside. The train was passing an empty field and was headed for a bridge.

"It was really lovely seeing you again, Y/n," Enola smiled sincerely when she turned back momentarily. "I've missed you terribly, as have my brothers."

Y/n's eye's widened as she realised what the young girl was doing and felt her stomach drop. She wouldn't, Y/n hoped. Not when they were closer and closer to the bridge. But Enola just smirked.

"One of them in particular."

Y/n sprinted for the door and watched with terror as Enola leapt from where she stood and disappeared from the doorway.

"Enola!"

She raced towards the nearest window just as the train carriage made a sharp turn and approached the bridge. It was not until she saw Enola's figure safely standing up on the field where she landed that Y/n finally exhaled.

After catching her breath, she headed back to her cabin and hoped she would get to see Enola again soon. Y/n's thoughts were far too flooded with worry, she barely noticed the yellow flowers that adorned the field they had passed nor Enola's last words before she jumped.

When the train finally arrived in London, there was a familiar brooding gentleman standing on the platform. When Y/n grew impatient with the long line of people waiting to exit her carriage, she cursed the fact that she and her uncle were the last two waiting. She stood on the tip of her toes and squinted as she peered through a nearby window.

It had been two years, but it was still so easy to recognise him. Not only was Sherlock wearing the same hat he did when they last spoke but he still stood tall and stiff like one of the lampposts they passed on walks through his hometown. Y/n wondered if he still remembered those lampposts or if they, too, were a disregarded memory.

When she and Francis finally reached the exit, Sherlock was in the middle of questioning an old couple. Francis was able to race past without the detective noticing however when Y/n lowered her head and attempted to do the same she was outrun and out of luck.

"Miss Y/l/n.”

His tone was ever so stern and formal which made Y/n's face scrunch. She begrudgingly turned around and faced him, donning a sarcastic smile as she watched the gentleman step closer.

“Detective,” she spoke curtly.

“What brings you to London?"

Y/n narrowed her eyes. Though she would never admit it, she had spent many hours imagining what he would say the next time their paths crossed. She hoped for, at the very least, an apology but was instead with him questioning her as though she were a suspect in his latest murder investigation.

“Why is that of any interest to you? I do believe this is a train platform, not a police station.”

“Avoiding the question, I see,” he noted snidely.

She glared at him and stepped closer.

"I would choose my next words very carefully if I were you," she warned. He sighed and for a moment Y/n could have sworn he smirked.

"You are travelling alone?"

"Of course not," Y/n answered, before turning around and gesturing her hand towards her uncle Francis who was organising their carriage.

“Is there something you want, Mr Holmes?”

“My sister, Enola. She is missing,"

Y/n inhaled sharply and immediately regretted it after remembering just how annoyingly attentive Sherlock was. In an attempt to save face, she softened her expression and mustered an answer as quickly as she could.

"I am sorry to hear," she responded rapidly.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and studied her closely. It had been a while, but he could still pick up on her nervous habits. The way her pace of breath changed and how she averted her eyes. It was as clear as day to him.

“You have seen her.”

He expected her to crack and immediately disclose any information she had, but Sherlock was quickly remembering that Y/n was far from predictable. When she began laughing at his question, it became clear to him that she would not be letting up any time soon.

“Of course, I have seen her, Mr Holmes." Y/n shrugged condescendingly, a sly grin ever-present on her lips. "I have known Enola since she was a mere infant.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know that,” he scolded, a familiar sense of agitation settling uncomfortably beneath his skin. Y/n was unfazed by his frustration. If anything, it amused her. Even so, Sherlock continued to press for answers.

“You are hiding something.”

“Everyone hides things,” Y/n shrugged.

She turned her heels and attempted to head back to her uncle Francis, but Sherlock raced past her and obstructed her path. He was beyond agitated.

“If you know where my sister is, you must tell me at once.”

"Why must I? She is not your ward," Y/n hissed.

Sherlock's brows rose in surprise. Even after two years, she was still adamant about advocating on his sister's behalf. Though he could now

"Again with this?" Sherlock laughed bitterly, bruising Y/n's ego in a way he had grown masterful at. There were few things she despised more than being patronised and he knew it better than anyone else. "My answer is as it was two years ago when you nagged me relentlessly about this."

"Well, then you need only look at your reflection to find the culprit for your sister's disappearance," Y/n sneered.

"I will never understand-"

"Your brother means well but you know how he treats Enola," she interrupted. For a man so brilliant, she could not fathom why he still did not understand her reasoning. "... Like she is a mere burden and not a young girl with her own thoughts and pursuits."

"You do not know what you speak of."

Y/n could not help but laugh. She knew precisely what she was saying. It was the very reason Enola confided in her and not one of the other adults that surrounded her.

"And you do not know what it is like to be a young girl whose entire destiny rests in someone else's hands," Y/n shouted, her jaw clenching as she a lump rise in her throat. "It is terrifying and daunting, so I can understand what possessed Enola to run away, especially when you can very easily change her circumstance by becoming her legal guardian... yet you continue to choose not to."

Sherlock's cheeks flushed. It had been a long while since he was confronted so aggressively regarding his role and duties within his family. Two years to be exact. He was quickly remembering the very reason he chose to pursue work such a great distance away from home.

"You are overstepping your bounds, Miss Y/l/n," he growled.

Since arriving in London, he had encountered more than his fair share of irritating people, but no one got under his skin quite like Y/n. No matter how much he push and retaliated she was always eager to fire back just as ferociously.

"Only because you are being complacent to the demise of your sister's happiness and you know it," Y/n scorned. How could he leave her behind with such carelessness? "Your parents would have wanted more for her."

"Regardless whether or not that is the case," Sherlock fired back, unwilling to hear another word from her about it. "That is a private matter. And despite how persistently intrusive you continue to be with our lives, I must remind you, Miss Y/l/n, that you are not family."

She inhaled sharply, stifling a gasp behind her tightly held lips. She felt the corner of her eyes begin to sting but composed herself just before they glossed over with tears. She would not give him that satisfaction.

Not after he made it abundantly clear to her, through his two-year silence, that he did not care one bit for her feelings. That she was not significant enough to have a place in the new life he had paved in London.

“You have not changed at all, Sherlock."

He felt him should slump at the disappointment and hurt ever prominent in her tone. He knew he had a tendency to take things too far, but it was only with her that he felt affected by the ramifications of it.

“She could be in danger,” Sherlock whispered, hoping Y/n would finally come to her senses and tell him what she knew.

“Enola is a brilliant and capable young girl,” Y/n began.

She would have considered telling him the truth had he not been so patronising with her. Enola needed to discover the truth about Eudoria's disappearance and Y/n was willing to ensure she did just that. Especially considering the fate that awaited her if she made her presence known.

Y/n was fuming at Sherlock's utter disregard for just how affected Enola was and would be. She expected such ignorance from men the likes of Mycroft, but she always hoped Sherlock would never follow suit.

“I understand that you think so very highly of yourself, but you mustn’t let that ego of yours cloud your already questionable judgement."

“My judgement is perfectly fine,” he rebutted defensively.

“Then I am sure you will be able to solve this without badgering me for information I simply do not have," Y/n glared. "Now if you will excuse me.”

She pushed past him and finally made her way to her uncle and their carriage. As if her week was not already dreadful, to begin with, she had to encounter the most irritating detective in all of England. Y/n hoped it would be a long time before they ever crossed paths again. However, as Sherlock watch her carriage leave, he felt an unnerving urge to see her again and knew exactly how he could ensure that.

***

The following morning Y/n wandered the halls of her uncle's estate curiously. Normally Francis was found wandering the gardens with his wife, but neither one of them were in sight. When Y/n returned inside and headed towards the sitting room she heard the faint sound of two men speaking, both voices familiar.

"Uncle Francis?" Y/n called out as she cautiously knocked twice on the door before slowly entering. Francis was sitting with his wife on the chair facing the door while another gentleman had his back turned on the opposite seat.

"Oh, good morning, dear," Francis smiled, rising from his seat to greet his niece. "I trust you slept well?"

"I did," Y/n answered gratefully. It was a relief to be from home. She quickly returned her attention to the seemingly intense conversation he was having. "What is the meaning of all this?"

"My dear, you will remember Mr Holmes," Francis spoke, gesturing towards the fourth person in the room.

Y/n glanced at him once before taking the only other available seat which, much to her dismay, was beside Sherlock. The two of them sat in uncomfortable silence on opposite edges of the settee. Y/n wondered if her aunt and uncle could pick up on their disdain for one another.

"Of course, she remembers, my love," Margaret, Francis' wife, murmured. She grinned as she glanced over at the two before looking back to her husband. "They were practically inseparable during our time in the countryside house."

Y/n shifted awkwardly as she thought back to the last time her family and Sherlock's were together. That was the last time she could remember looking him in the eye and not feeling repulsed. It was hard to imagine they were once great friends.

"Miss Y/l/n," Sherlock spoke, turning his head and greeting her with a curt nod. Y/n offered no more than a sidelong glare before turning back to her uncle and ignoring Sherlock's presence entirely.

"Has something happened, uncle Francis?"

"A family heirloom was taken from our vault sometime last week," he explained sadly. "Your grandmama's lavalier. Her most prized possession, second only the pendant she gifted you when you came of age."

Y/n frowned. Her grandmother passed a mere three years ago and, as her only grandchild, Y/n was inherited many of her prized possessions. The lavalier, in particular, was meant to be gifted to her upon her wedding day. Weeks prior, Y/n was beaming at the thought of finally being able to wear her grandmother's beloved necklace. Now she was left disappointed yet again.

"The lavalier is missing?"

"Stolen," Sherlock corrected.

"I do believe I was speaking to my uncle, Mr Holmes," Y/n sneered.

"I suppose you are both right," Francis smiled, unaware of the tension in the room. Y/n sighed before turning to face Mr Holmes.

"Well, have you discovered who has taken it?"

"I believe your missing lavalier may be a part of a much larger ongoing chain of heists," Sherlock explained, ignoring Y/n's annoyance. "I have a lead I am rather confident in, I just need to inspect the premises before I go any further with my investigation."

The detective let out a small cough before excusing himself. Y/n watched curiously as he made himself scarce, noting something odd in the way he made himself scarce with such abruptness.

"I believe breakfast will be served soon, dear," Francis announced. His wife was already on her way towards the dining room when Y/n rose from her chair and spoke lowly.

"May I be excused, uncle?" She asked. "I don't particularly have an appetite at the moment."

"Well if you have a change of heart,"

"I won't, but thank you," Y/n smiled graciously.

Francis did not miss the way her eyes were glued to the window. It took him half a heartbeat to realise his niece was looking for the detective. The crinkle on her temple as she scanned the garden made him chuckle.

"Do not be too hard on the man, Y/n," he whispered.

His niece's eyes widened and she met his smirk with a humoured grin. Any other person in her family would have scolded her for acting with such impropriety. Her mama would have surely scolded her on how unbecoming her snide remarks and constant glares were. Francis was much different, which was the very reason she asked to go with him to London for a few weeks. She could hardly take another lecture or disapproving frown.

"Fear not, uncle," Y/n chimed. "I will be as kind to him as he has been to me."

She and her uncle parted ways in the corridor. While he followed after his wife, Y/n returned to the garden and looked for the brooding detective with a permanent frown. He was examing the gates from afar, trying to make note of the different points of entry.

"Have you spoken to the maids?" Y/n asked abruptly, startling Sherlock. While he scowled, she stood beside him and joined him in gazing at the gates. "They keep a very attentive eye while moving around the estate."

"I doubt it will be necessary," he dismissed.

"How can you be so sure?"

Y/n raised her brows and waited expectantly.

"I have my reasons," Sherlock answered shortly.

She scoffed. Never mind that she knew the estate far better than him, there was no interfering with what he decided was the truth.

"You have not changed at all," she muttered in disdain.

Sherlock turned around and walked towards the home. He liked conducting investigations on his own. It was the very reason he chose to work independently as opposed to with an agency.

"If you will excuse me, I have an inspection to conduct," he huffed.

She turned around followed him inside, unable to let him even a moment of peace. When he heard her footsteps follow him onto the paved foyer, Sherlock gritted his teeth. Why could she not leave him be like any other sensible person? Why did she have to go out of her way to get underneath his skin?

"Well, I have a beloved lavalier that I intend to find."

"I do believe I was the one asked to look into this," Sherlock argued pointedly, finally turning around and facing her again. She stopped in her tracks and glowered.

"You may have my uncle convinced that you are fit for the task at hand, but I remain rather sceptical."

"Ah, so it appears you have not changed at all either," he scoffed.

"Do you ever grow tired of being so self-righteous?" Y/n scorned.

"Do you ever grow tired of your relentless nagging?"

"No," she shouted. "I find it rather useful when dealing with frustratingly difficult people."

They were both far too busy glaring at one another to realise how close they stood. When he had no snide remark to respond with, Y/n let out a huff and stepped back. While she had much more to reprimand him about, there was a greater issue at hand.

"Sherlock, that lavalier means a great deal to me."

He softened his posture and nodded once. When news of her grandmother's passing reached the countryside, it was Sherlock who spent hours sitting beneath the willow tree comforting a very devastated Y/n.

Of course, he knew the necklace was greatly important to her. After all, it was the very reason he insisted on finding it free of charge.

"I cannot just sit idly knowing it is gone," Y/n sighed. She braced herself for an insulting response from the emotionally-detached detective himself but, to her surprise, he let out a smile.

"I know," he whispered.

Watching her eyes light up made his stomach turn in a way he found surprisingly favourable. It had been a while since he had seen that.

"So you will let me help?"

Sherlock gave it a moment's deliberation before remembering the lead he had. Y/n watched in anticipation as he narrowed his eyes before letting out a sigh.

"Hm... reluctantly so," he muttered before turning his back and walking towards the nearest bench. He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a piece of paper before unfolding it. "As a matter of fact, your help may actually be crucial to retrieving it."

"Of course, it is," Y/n grinned as she assumed the seat beside him.

"You will remember I mentioned a pattern of heists targeting family heirlooms."

She nodded and watched intently as he held up a sketched out portrait of a man, the name Leonard Kingsley scribbled in the bottom left corner of the page.

"I believe I have found the culprit," Sherlock began, before quickly folding the page and tucking it back into his pocket before anyone else could see it. "Which is why your presence may prove to be useful in allowing me to corner him."

"How so?"

"He will be at a gala tomorrow," he explained lowly. "I initially planned on attending it alone, but it may be wiser to attend it in disguise, so as to catch him off guard."

Sherlock shifted closer to Y/n so only she could hear him, however, he kept his eyes averted and scanned the view ahead of him to appear as though they were not discussing anything of much importance. She took note of his behaviour and followed suit.

"And how exactly do I fit into this scheme of yours?" Y/n asked in a hushed tone.

"Well, the invitees are mostly couples," Sherlock answered. "If we were to pose as husband and wife, I am certain we will go unnoticed."

Y/n nervously glanced at him quickly, curious to see his expression. He was still so stoic, which irritated her far more than she would have liked. How could he propose they act as a couple so nonchalantly when the very thought of it made her heart pound?

She brushed off the thought and turned back to the view ahead of her, hoping he did not catch her watchful glance. Sherlock did.

"What if we are spotted by someone who recognises either one of us?" Y/n questioned, straightening her back and narrowing her eyes.

"The gala caters to a rather niche group of people," he assured. "I presume you are not well known among the London mapmaker society?"

Strange, Y/n thought. Though she knew no mapmakers, the topic of cartography felt oddly familiar. She quickly dismissed the thought.

"Very well, then," she nodded. "If that is what is needed to recover my missing necklace, then so be it."

Y/n rose from her seat and walked past him, unaware that Sherlock was not yet done speaking.

"Stolen," he muttered, prompting Y/n to scrunch her brows in confusion. When she turned to him, he finally met her gaze with teasing eyes and otherwise indifferent expression. "Your stolen necklace."

She bit her tongue and entered the house silently.

***

Y/n's eyes wandered down to her ungloved hands. Her mama would be livid if she knew what her daughter was up to. Y/n had never felt more exhilarated. She walked up to Sherlock who held the carriage door open for her.

"Shall we?"

She stepped out carefully, far too preoccupied with ensuring she did not stain her dress to notice his watchful glance. Sherlock pulled himself away and closed the carriage door. As they approached the doors to the building, she suddenly moved closer to him and tenderly looped her arm around his.

"What are you doing?"

Y/n glanced at him and stifled the urge to grin. There was something about the way he was so easily startled by her, not to mention the fact that he was not pulling away.

"We are acting as husband and wife, are we not?" Y/n quipped pointedly.

"For someone not yet matched, you seem to have a rather vivid understanding of how a couple behaves," he retorted quietly.

She winced. He was not the first to point out the fact that she was still unmarried, yet it still stung. She pursed her lips as they continued to follow the small crowd of guests.

"It's hardly a well-kept secret," she scoffed. "Or at least it is to anyone with an ounce of empathy and emotional intelligence."

"You only say that because you lack any real intelligence."

"I do pity the poor woman destined to tolerate your ego until death do you both part," Y/n groaned.

Sherlock glanced at her then at the sight of her bare fingers clinging onto his sleeve. It was clear she was nervous, so he took it as his opportunity to startle her for a change. Resisting the urge to grin, he moved closer to her and spoke lowly.

"The grip you have on my arm tells me it is envy you feel for her. Not pity."

Y/n gasped and slapped his shoulder lightly. Sherlock chuckled beneath his breath. If it had been any other person, he would have been livid.

"Not even in your wildest dreams, Mr Holmes," she hissed.

"Just for tonight then I suppose, Mrs Holmes."

He remained unfazed by her shocked expression and took hold of her hand before they walked into the ballroom. By the time they moved through the crowd and found a secluded spot to stand and spectate, her fingers were intertwined with his. Sherlock did not mind at all.

After several rounds of dancing, Y/n and Sherlock secured a spot close to the edge of the dance floor. From there, they were able to gauge a better view of the other attendees without raising suspicion.

"Do you see him?" Y/n asked.

Sherlock squinted as he looked across the room and nodded.

"He is across the ballroom," he sighed defeatedly. "It would be impossible to follow after him without raising suspicion."

Y/n raised a brow and leaned closer to him.

"For a self-proclaimed genius, you have a rather limited skill set, don't you?"

They were standing on the edge of a dance floor. Did he not see the obvious solution to their predicament? Just before the music changed, Y/n gripped his hand firmly.

"I shall have you know-"

He could hardly finish his sentence. Before he realised what was happening he found himself amidst other couples looking to dance the next set. Sherlock's breath quickened as he looked around the room nervously. He was never good at dancing but, luckily, Y/n knew that better than anyone.

"Just try and follow my lead," she whispered assuringly.

Y/n took hold of his shoulder with her free hand raised her elbows just as she had been taught. Sherlock glanced over quickly at the gentleman across the floor and tried his best to mimic.

When the music started, Sherlock found himself struggling to keep up with Y/n's swift and graceful movements. Thankfully, all of the other attendants appeared far too invested in their own conversations to notice his shaky hands and hesitant steps.

"Where did you learn to do this?" Sherlock asked curiously.

He would never admit it, but he was rather impressed. Though Sherlock never paid much mind to ballroom dances, he could tell Y/n was very skilled at it.

"I spent a month learning just about every ballroom dance," she explained. "And then another ten teaching it in Nottingham."

Sherlock drew his brows together in confusion.

"I took up an instructor position at Miss Moore's finishing school for young ladies," Y/n clarified but to no avail. He was still puzzled.

"How am I only just hearing of this now?"

"I took up the position after you left for London," she spoke softly. "I wrote to you about it, did you not receive the letter?"

Sherlock winced, his expression suddenly riddled with regret. It suddenly became clear to him why she was so short with him ever since their conversation at the train station.

"....I did," he gulped.

Her face fell.

"Oh," she inhaled sharply.

As the two of them continued to dance, Sherlock's guilt grew tenfold as he watched Y/n intently whilst she glanced at everyone but him. Of all the harsh insults he had thrown at her, she had never been as hurt as she was then.

When she realised the set was reaching its end, she quickly brought her attention back to her missing necklace. Sherlock sighed in relief when finally Y/n met his eyes.

"Do you see him?"

Sherlock scanned the room until he landed on the side door. The monocled man was approaching the worker by the door.

"He appears to be whispering something to the guard."

Y/n leaned back, guiding Sherlock towards the left side of the floor until she could get a closer look herself.

"He is heading outside," she whispered. "You should follow him."

"Only me?"

"I will make conversation while you go," she assured him, slowing her steps as the music came to an end. "It might raise suspicion if we are both missing."

Sherlock shook his head, despite Y/n pulling him off the dance floor and attempting to push him towards the door Mr Kingsely left through. He planted his feet firmly and reached for her hand, pulling her closer so no one could overhear their words.

"We do not know anyone here, Y/n," Sherlock reminded her. "You might find yourself in danger."

While Y/n had an urge to scoff at his sudden concern for her safety, particularly after his last revelation, she could not ignore the terror and guilt in his eyes. She sighed before taking firm hold of the sides of his arms.

"Sherlock, do you trust me?"

"Of course," he answered sincerely, without even a moment's deliberation.

"Then go," she whispered.

With nothing left to say, he turned headed for the door. Y/n returned to the crowd of mapmakers and braced herself for a night of pretence. It was

After a long gruelling conversation with the cartographer, Y/n finally managed to pull herself away long enough to get a glass of water. Having to lie about being married to a mapmaker for hours on end left her quite parched. When she finished, she began pacing back to the crowd until she bumped into a familiar figure.

"Oh, forgive me, ma'am," he apologised, turning around and reaching to help Y/n back up. She blinked dumbfoundedly when the realisation settled.

"Mr Harridge," Y/n whispered.

The very man who courted her, asked for her hand, only to retract his proposal all in one season. It had been quite some time since they last spoke. There was a time Y/n would have scorned him unashamedly at the first available opportunity. However, with the amount of time she had to grieve the future she once hoped for with him, she had no more spite. Only questions,

"Miss Y/l/n," he said curtly.

"Are you here alone?"

Mr Harridge gulped before shaking his head. Y/n had never seen him so terrified, not even after she had a heated argument with her mama the night he came over for dinner.

"No," he answered shakily. "Um... I am here with my wife."

"Your wife?"

He extended his hand and gestured past Y/n. She turned and realised he was pointing to the woman caressing her protruding stomach. It all made sense now.

"Oh, of course," Y/n whispered beneath her breath.

When it became clear he intended to propose, Y/n and Mr Harridge disclosed to one another the last person they previously held affections for. For Mr Harridge, it was the woman now carrying his child. For Y/n, it was a particularly irritable detective who she missed terribly at the time.

They chose to make such confessions in the hopes it would strengthen their trust in one another. Y/n was quickly deducting it only made them realise they were not with the right people.

"I am sorry, Miss Y/l/n," Mr Harridge spoke sorrowfully. "I never meant for you to be affected."

While Mr Harridge caused her a great deal of heartache, she was far enough past the pain to realise there was no more point in wielding it.

"I wish you both every happiness," she smiled sincerely. "And you must inform me when you and your wife welcome your child. I will be sure to send a gift."

Prior to his courtship, and even throughout, Mr Harridge was a dear friend to her and her family. She refused to let that be tainted by bitterness all because he chose to be with the woman he loved all along. Y/n stood and watch him approach his wife and wondered if she would be lucky enough to find such a companion for herself.

"That was very kind of you."

Y/n jumped at the abrupt sound of Sherlock's voice. She turned and realised he had overheard the better half of her conversation with Mr Harridge. Sherlock held his arm for Y/n to hold on to, before walking out of the ballroom and towards the front steps of the building.

"I think you will find I am a rather pleasant person when I am not irritated," Y/n quipped.

"Then I suspect you will become a saint when you see this."

Just as they reached the front steps, Sherlock pointed to a group of guards detaining a familiar monocled man. Y/n squinted her eyes before smiling when she recognised the figure.

"So it was him?"

"After cornering him in the garden, he confessed."

In truth, Sherlock had to chase him through the hedges and disarm him when he got hold of a pair of clippers. Y/n did not need to know the finer details, he decided. She just needed to know her necklace would soon be retrieved.

"I take it he is not a real mapmaker," Y/n chuckled as they continued to watch.

"Mr Leonard Kingsley has been posing as a cartographer while infiltrating the staff at different estates and stealing the most prized heirloom from each place to sell in the foreign market."

The two of them made their way down the steps and towards the foyer. After Sherlock organised their separate carriages, they stood and waited, her arm still looped through his despite there being no more reason to continue pretending.

"Y/n, I am sorry," Sherlock sighed, pulling his arm away and opting to hold her hand instead. He had grown rather fond of how her fingers felt intertwined with his. "I should have kept in contact with you after leaving for London."

She watched him closely. It was clear he regretted not writing back, however she still needed some answers.

"What hindered you from doing so?"

"I was a coward," he admitted sheepishly.

Her brows rose. It was unlike him to admit to his shortcomings. Y/n was realising that perhaps there was still much to learn about the boy she had always known.

"I suppose I convinced myself it was better to cut all ties to you completely, as well as Enola and my mother, because..." Sherlock paused and sighed defeatedly. "Well because I wanted to believe I could venture off to London and devote myself to my work and nothing else."

Y/n knitted her brows in sympathy. She had always resented Sherlock's insistence on working and living independently. She never realised how detrimental that must have been to his happiness. He, too, only came to realise this now.

"That sounds like an awfully lonesome pursuit," Y/n spoke, holding onto his hand all the more firmly.

"It has been," Sherlock admitted, feeling instantly relieved. "Nevertheless, I am sorry."

"Well," she smiled warmly. "Considering the tremendous help you've been in retrieving my grandmother's lavalier, you are very much forgiven."

They stood in silence for what felt like only a few seconds. He felt relieved. Perhaps the reason he walked the streets of London with such a dissatisfied scowl was that he was missing the one person who never failed to irritate him relentlessly and perceive the world in a way he could not.

It was her insight and her nagging that he missed so terribly, even when he refused to see it. It was always her.

"I believe this is my carriage," Y/n said as the worker from Francis' estate held the door open for her.

"Ah, yes," Sherlock responded, though he was not yet ready to part ways with her.

He watched fondly as she moved to approach her carriage but, for some reason, turned back remained where she stood, her feet never leaving the paved ground.

"Sherlock?" Y/n smiled. He appeared preoccupied with a thought, though his eyes never left hers. She did not dare let her heart wonder why that was.

He raised brows, finally pulling himself away from his train of thought. Y/n glanced down and grinned.

"You are still holding my hand," she murmured.

His cheeks grew warm and he immediately let go of her. Even so, she was not quick to speed off into her carriage. Instead, she lifted her hand, the very hand he held, and placed it briefly on his shoulder.

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

He placed his hand atop hers and followed her to the carriage, only letting go of his grasp when she was seated inside.

"Goodnight," he whispered before the worker closed the door.

On the journey back to the estate, Y/n's eyes never left her ungloved hands. Mama would have surely imploded had she known. Y/n grinned and peered out into the night sky.

***

A week had passed and Y/n had not heard from Sherlock. As a result, when a worker informed her she had a visitor waiting for her in the study, she opened the doors hoping to see him. Instead, it was his younger sister.

"Enola?"

The young girl turned around and Y/n immediately closed the door behind her and raced forward. She pulled Enola into her arms and hugged her tightly.

"Oh, I was worried sick about you," Y/n cried, before promptly pulling away and inspecting the young girl's face and limbs. "Are you hurt? You must have at least been bruised jumping out of a moving train carriage like an absolute maniac, what were you thinking!"

"I am perfectly fine, Y/n," Enola assured Y/n who pulled her in for yet another hug.

"Enola, my dear, you are so brave but absolutely wild!" Y/n exclaimed. "I don't know whether to reprimand you right now or ask you what you're secret is."

"Rather ironic you say that considering everything I know is because my mama and you," she grinned.

Though she did not doubt the girl was being honest, Y/n found herself narrowing her eyes at her enthusiasm. Watching a young girl jump off a moving train was not something she could easily move past.

"I am flattered, but I need you to promise me you won't ever frighten me like that again."

"I am sorry."

Y/n sighed. Enola was alive and safe. Perhaps that was what mattered most, even more than the terror she felt on the train.

"I am just relieved all your limbs are still intact."

She playfully poked Enola's shoulder, causing the young girl to laugh before sitting on one of the empty chairs facing the desk.

"Have you heard from my brothers?" Enola asked nervously. Y/n leaned against the edge of the desk and faced her.

"Sherlock," she answered shortly. "He was very worried about your disappearance."

"You didn't tell them you saw me, did you?"

Y/n shook her head, causing Enola to let out a sigh of relief. As she leaned back into her chair, Y/n donned a proud grin.

"Fortunately for you, I am a rather masterful performer."

"I somehow find that difficult to believe," Enola chuckled.

Y/n could not help but laugh along with her. Not long after, however, she quickly found herself reacquainted with her worries pertaining to Enola's safety. It did not take long for the wrinkle between her brows to reappear.

"Why are you here, Enola?" Y/n asked concernedly. "Has something happened?"

"I am in need of a place to stay... just for this evening," Enola explained." I cannot return to previous lodgings however if my suspicions are true I might be seeing mama tomorrow."

"Then, of course, Enola, you are more than welcome to stay here."

She knew she would have to come up with some sort of explanation for her uncle Francis, but Y/n did not mind. Not if it meant helping Enola.

Before she could finish thanking her, Enola's face fell when the two of them heard a loud knock on the door to the study, followed by a familiar voice.

"That is your brother," Y/n whispered in a panic. "You must hide before he sees you! Quickly!"

Enola scurried behind the desk and hid beneath it, clasping her hand over her mouth to stifle any sounds she would involuntarily make from fright. She listened closely and heard the door swing open and close quickly after.

"Sherlock!" Y/n shrieked. She barely had the chance to open the door herself when the intolerable detective let himself in.

"I heard you speaking," Sherlock commented suspiciously, taking cautious steps towards Y/n. "Was there someone else here?"

He began scanning the room for any signs of another person. It was not until he stepped closer to the desk that he noticed the way Y/n jumped.

"No, I was- um," Y/n stuttered as she turned to her uncle's desk and picked up the book left open on it. She then quickly turned back to Sherlock who was already inching closer. "...I was reciting some poetry."

"I never knew you enjoyed doing that," he replied narrowly.

"Yes, well I developed a liking for it during my time teaching at the finishing school."

It was a good lie, one Sherlock would have bough had she picked up a book of poems and not a botanical encyclopaedia. For reason he was not willing to disclose, Sherlock ignored her obvious lie.

"What brings you here?" She asked after tossing the book back onto the desk. Mere hours ago she was exanticipating his visit, but now she was quietly hoping he would be on his way out soon.

"I wanted to personally return the missing lavalier," he answered. "Your uncle has returned it to the vault now."

"Oh, wonderful! Thank you for that, Sherlock," Y/n beamed. Her smile quickly wavered when he continue to step closer and whe his eyes began to wander over her shoulder. "W-was there anything else you needed?"

Y/n stepped back only to realise there was no more space between her and the desk, much less the young girl hiding beneath it. She placed her hand behind her and gripped the wooden edge.

"I suppose there is," Sherlock replied nonchalantly, though his eyes were narrowed and tense. He moved even closer to her. "I still have yet to figure out where Enola has run off to."

"Well, I am certain she is perfectly fine... wherever it is she may be."

"How can you be so sure?"

As though she were not already nervous enough trying to lie for Enola, Y/n had to also endure the watchful glance of the gentleman she held such strong feelings for.

"Well she's an exceptionally intelligent young girl," Y/n blubbered. "I mean... all of you Holmes siblings are alike in that manner."

"It is very unlike you to speak so kindly to me," Sherlock commented.

She could have sworn there was a trace of disappointment in his tone, but she was far too overcome with nerves to give it much thought.

"Yes, well I am trying to turn a new leaf, you see."

"Y/n," Sherlock began, the corner of lips turning upwards like he had his chess opponent cornered. "Is there anything you know about my sister's disappearance?"

"Like I told you previously. No," Y/n held firm, despite having little confidence she had him fooled to any degree. He continued to lean closer, causing Y/n to lean back and hope Enola was out of sight.

"I fear I am still not convinced you are being honest with me."

"Then I do not know what else to say," she shrugged, though she was just about trembling from nervousness.

"Might I suggest the truth?"

Sherlock went to lean even closer, knowing true and well he would be able to discover his sister sitting beneath the desk, just he suspected. However, he stopped when he met her gaze. Their faces were mere centimetres apart, but she remained silent.

Y/n was well aware that he knew, but she looked at him and hoped he would trust the decision she made to help Enola. Sherlock needed only a moment of looking her in the eye to comply. If it had been anyone else, he would not have stopped, but it was her. And though he would have enjoyed the opportunity to reprimand his sister and Y/n for undermining his intelligence, he fought the urge and stepped back.

"Very well then," he muttered softly.

She watched in shock as he turned away completely and began pacing across the opposite end of the room, studying the books on the shelves.

“Well… when my sister eventually does make her presence known, I suspect she will be pleased to learn that I’ve decided to take her as my ward.”

Y/n raised her brows as her eyes widened in shock. After years of debate, he finally gave in and announced it to her with such nonchalance. It was most peculiar.

"And when the transferral is made official," Sherlock continued. "My first task will be to appoint someone as her governess. Ideally, they would be someone already familiar with her and with me. Someone who is able to advocate for Enola even in spite of my tendency to be stubborn."

He approached Francis' globe and spun it once with his finger before continuing on. Y/n furrowed her brows and watched him pace curiously. Why was he disclosing this to her?

"Perhaps someone who is firm, but also kind. Someone loyal and patient and..." Sherlock paused and turned to face Y/n. "Frustratingly insightful."

Her jaw fell when she realised.

"In any case, I hope you will consider taking up the position," Sherlock smiled, moving back towards her. "I am certain Enola will be thrilled to have you back in her life."

She would not be the only one, though Sherlock was not yet ready to admit that. Her eyes gleamed as she gave it more thought.

"Well, I too would be delighted to spend more time again with... Enola," she grinned. "However, I must ask... why the change of heart? Two years ago you were disposing the unopened letters I wrote to you. Now you are wanting to employ me?"

Sherlock nodded. It was a fair point to make. Perhaps he was being foolish expecting her to be willing to work in close proximity to him. However, he knew he would be a greater fool if he did not at least attempt to persuade her.

"I may have come to the realisation last week that I... I rather enjoy being in your company," he explained. "It is something I have missed greatly. Something I will not take for granted again."

"And what of your sudden decision to become Enola's guardian?" Y/n questioned, still puzzled by his sudden change of heart.

"Well," he began. "There is this particularly irritable young woman in my life who has continuously reprimanded me at every given opportunity to the point where I... I soon found myself convinced that this was the right thing to do."

"It sounds like you have an awfully wise woman in your midst," she smirked.

"Yes, I suppose I do," he agreed, his eyes never leaving hers.

Their gaze remained unbroken, though Y/n was quickly startled by the sudden feeling of his fingers intertwined with hers. She froze for a mere second before chuckling at how dumbfounded he appeared to be. Did he realise what he was doing?

“Sherlock," Y/n whispered. He continued smiling at her, studying her eyes and her face like it was the greatest mystery he had stumbled across yet. "You are holding my hand again.”

“I am aware," Sherlock replied, knowing he did not intend on letting her go again anytime soon.

NEXT PART

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